Variation on a Theme
by KinoFille
Summary: It was just that sometimes, especially when she met someone new, she felt as if she was spending her whole life doing penance for a mistake she made on the balcony of her bedroom when she was a kid." LL, AU
1. Default Chapter

**A/N: **Yes, I'm starting a new story. I promise to update more frequently than I have in times past. It's an AU, but how and why it is should become clear pretty quickly.

Big, shiny, grateful props to **JeS**, **witchofnovember**, **CIAChick**, and **fallingfables** for beta-ing and offering to beta. It was my first time, and they were all incredibly gentle. (Yes, that was set up for a _dirty_.)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the show or the characters, just the story idea. I may occasionally borrow dialogue and situations from the original show, but I won't always use them in the original context

**Chapter 1**

Lorelai sat in the back of her mother's Mercedes, wondering, as she often did, how she let herself get talked into this stuff. She pouted for a while, staring out the window as the car silently prowled the back roads of the Connecticut countryside. After a few minutes of self-pity, though, she needed a distraction. She turned her attention to the exchange between the women in the front seat. Emily and Francine were always good for a little ringside entertainment.

"Emily, the chair you picked out in that last place in Woodbury will go perfectly in your sitting room. I really envy the way everything in your house just . . . _matches_ so well."

_Oooh! Hayden opens with a left jab of "Your Taste is Boring." How will Gilmore come back from that one?_

"Why, Francine, thank you. Of course, we can't all have your . . ._eclectic_ taste. I was just saying to Richard the other night that your house is always so _fun_."

_And Gilmore matches blow-for-blow with her specialty, the classic Insult-as-Compliment Combination! _

There was a brief silence, but Lorelai knew from experience that it was just a lull between rounds.

"Emily, are you sure we're going the right way? I swear, you always did know the most out-of-the-way places."

_Wow! Hayden with the Directional Incompetence/ "You Know All the Truck Stops, Dontcha?" One-TwoPunch! That's gonna leave a mark! "I'm sure we're fine. Besides, Rory pulled the directions for us off the Internet. She's so talented with computers." Gilmore attempts a comeback with the Grandparent Bragging Gambit. Always a risky move, especially if . . ._

"Yes, she's such an intelligent girl. So much like her father."

. . ._you share the grandchild with your opponent._

Lorelai was just beginning to enjoy the show when Emily, as if just noticing her presence, looked at her in the rear-view mirror. "Lorelai, at this next place I really want you to look for a new coffee table to replace the one in your living room. Honestly, I don't know why you've held on to that eyesore as long as you have."

Lorelai frowned, but as usual didn't say anything. She loved that coffee table. It was the first thing she and Christopher bought when they moved into their own house. She'd bought it for five bucks at a flea market in Bridgeport, and spent weeks sanding it down and painting it. Rory had learned to walk by pulling herself up on it.

Oh, well. She'd do what she always did when it came to dealing with her mother. She'd fight that battle another day.

_strummy-strummy-la-la_

A few minutes later, they passed a sign announcing their arrival in the town of Stars Hollow. Lorelai was surprised that she'd never heard of the place, having lived less then fifty miles away from it her whole live. But, then, she usually managed to escape Emily and Francine's Antiques Roadshow and Catfight Review. Stupid Ava, cancelling the Booster Club meeting at the last minute. Stupid Lorelai, letting her mother know she had no plans for the day.

They pulled up in front of a small clapboard building with a sign in front identifying it as Kim's Antiques. Lorelai immediately pictured calico, doilies, and rose-petal potpourri. Instead, they stepped through the door and into a dark space crammed full of furniture and knick-knacks, most of which Lorelai knew wouldn't meet Emily and Francine's keeping-up-with-the-DAR standards.

A disembodied, vaguely-accented female voice came to them from somewhere in the back of the store. "Be right with you! Everything in the front of the store is 20 off!"

Emily looked mortified and Francine victorious, and Lorelai knew that neither of them was going to be the first to say that the place was a mistake and suggest leaving.

After a few uncomfortable moments, a small Asian woman (_Ah-hah! "Kim" as in the Korean surname, not "Kim" as in the elementary school teacher with the headbands and the kitty-cat sweaters?)_ appeared seemingly from nowhere.

"May I help you?"

Emily, in an obvious ploy to save face, went into her best Lady of the Manor bit. "Yes, I'm looking for a china cabinet. Solid mahogany. Nothing after 1930."

"I have just the thing," smiled the woman (_Mrs. Kim_?). "It is not mahogany, but it is very nice. Follow me, please."

Having no interest in china cabinets, Lorelai wandered around the front of the store. She figured she should at least act like she was trying to find a coffee table, but after a few minutes of inhaling dust and looking at a dozen tables that, frankly, all looked alike to her, her eyes were burning and her head was pounding.

She needed coffee.

She heard the front door of the shop open, and a girl about Rory's age appeared.

"Mama, I'm home," called the girl in the general vicinity of the back of the store.

"Lane? Is that you?" came MaybeMrsKim's voice.

Lorelai had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when the girl rolled her eyes. "Yes, Mama, it's me."

"I have tofu muffins and green tea for you in the kitchen. You may have one muffin, then you will do your homework. Remember, we have Bible study tonight."

This time, the eyeroll was accompanied by a look of abject persecution Lorelai recognized from her own teen years. She sensed she may have found a kindred spirit.

"Psst," she hissed, startling the girl. "Hey, kid. C'mere."

Lane approached her slowly, obviously not accustomed to being accosted by complete strangers. "Yes, ma'am?"

Lorelai decided to let the "ma'am" bit go since she had more important things on her mind. "So, is there anywhere in this berg to get a shot of tequila? Or at least a decent cup of coffee?"

The girl blushed and looked around cautiously, not unlike Deep Throat in a Washington D.C. parking garage at 3 o'clock in the morning. "I can't help you with the tequila part," she whispered, "but Luke's Diner has amazing coffee—not that I've ever had it. 'Cause I haven't. I'm not allowed to have caffeine. So I don't"

"And where might one find this Luke's, Oasis of Caffeinated Magic?"

"It's right across the street," giggled the girl, pointing out the window.

Lorelai smiled. "Thanks, kid. You may very well have prevented a nervous breakdown and a couple of homicides today." She fished around in her purse and pulled out her Emergency Snickers. "Here," she said, handing it to the girl. "You look like you could use this—not that you ever eat chocolate, of course. 'Cause you don't."

The girl smiled gratefully, and Lorelai set off in search of coffee salvation.

_strummy-strummy-la-la_

It took her a few minutes to find the place, but who could blame her? What kind of business has two different names? "My diner, my hardware store, my diner, my hardware store," she muttered as she opened the door.

As soon as she walked in she was hit with the Holy Trinity of Blessed Food Smells: burger grease, pastry, and coffee. The place was empty (did people in this town not _eat_ between breakfast and lunch?), so she took a seat at a table by the window. She watched a street musician play an acoustic version of "Born to Run" as he made his way past a gazebo, and she saw a bearded man in a cardigan step out of what looked like a market to sweep the sidewalk, but then she got distracted by a plump, pretty, red-headed woman and a tall guy in a wool cap arguing very loudly over . . ._kumquats? _

Just as she was trying to decide if she'd stepped into a Frank Capra movie or a David Lynch film, she was startled by a gruff, masculine voice at her shoulder.

"What can I get ya?"

Standing next to her, pen poised over his order pad, was a tall man about her own age, wearing a flannel shirt and a backward baseball cap. He was also wearing the kind of _I don't need this crap_ expression that historically made her want to give the wearers of such expressions . . .well, _crap._

"Yes, I'd like a cup of coffee, a slice of rhubarb pie, and a plate of mashed yeast."

Flannel Guy paused mid order-jot and stared at her.

"A what?"

"A slice of rhubarb pie," she replied sweetly.

"No, the other thing."

"A. Cup. Of. Coffee," she said slowly, as if to a two-year-old.

"No, the last thing you said," growled Flannel Guy. _Wow. Low boiling point on this one!_

"Oh! Oh!" she cried, as if just realizing what she'd said. "The plate of mashed yeast. That's Woody Allen. Remember in _Annie Hall_, when he--"

"Never seen _Annie Hall._"

"Really?" Now she wasn't just faking surprise. Who _hadn't_ seen _Annie Hall_?

"I don't really watch a lot of movies."

"Really? Then, what do you do in your spare time?"

"Well, I . . ." Flannel Guy caught himself when he realized he was about to explain his leisure-time choices to a total stranger. "Look, do you want the coffee? I don't have rhubarb pie, but I have peach. Take it or leave it."

"Just the coffee, please."

Flannel Guy stalked behind the counter, poured a cup of coffee, stalked back to Lorelai's table, and set the cup down with a thunk. "Anything else?"

"Not right now, thanks."

He tore her ticket off his pad, slapped it on the table, and stomped back to the counter to do whatever diner-types do in the middle of the morning.

For a minute, Lorelai began to worry that the friendliness level of the service in this place would be a direct indication of the taste of the coffee. One sip, however, told her she didn't need to worry.

"Oh, my _god!_" she cried.

Flannel guy, apparently thinking she'd found a bug in her cup or something, came hurrying over. "What's the matter?"

Lorelai looked up at him in wonder. "This? Is possibly the _best_ coffee I've ever had. In my _life._"

Flannel guy blushed. "Well . . .uh . . . thanks. I'm glad you like it."

"Oh, you misunderstand, my friend. I don't like it. I _love_ it. Oooh! I'll have to tell my daughter about it. She'll love it, too."

Flannel Guy looked at her as if she'd just said confessed to buying her daughter heroin before sending her off to work the streets. "You give your kid coffee?"

"Well, it's not really a matter of 'give.' She usually makes it herself. Or goes to Starbucks and gets it.

Flannel Guy's eyes widened. "How old is she?"

"She just turned sixteen."

"_You_ have a sixteen-year-old kid?"

Lorelai could see him doing the math, just like everyone did when they first found out about Rory.

"Let me help ya out there," she sighed. "My daughter is sixteen. I'm thirty-two. I got pregnant the Christmas before I turned sixteen, we got married three months later, I had Rory in October, and the rest, as they say, is history." She didn't know why she felt like she had to explain herself this guy, or why she even cared what he would think. After sixteen years, she was used to the whispers, and the judgmental looks, and the people doing obvious mental arithmetic right in front of her. And she wouldn't trade Rory for anything. It was just that sometimes, especially when she met someone new, she felt as if she was spending her whole life doing penance for a mistake she made on the balcony of her bedroom when she was a kid.

Flannel Guy blushed and cleared his throat. "Oh, no, no. I wasn't judging you or anything. I was just surprised." He pulled uncomfortably on the bill of his cap. "Actually, my sister had a kid when she was really young, too. But she turned out to be a real mess. At least you got married and . . . everything."

"Yeah," Lorelai said with an uncertain smile. "Everything turned out fine." _Everything according to plan._

Just then, the bell above the diner jingled. A pale, scrawny young guy walked in and approached Flannel Guy with a thick stack of papers.

"Good morning, Luke." _So, Flannel Guy is Luke—the Luke on the confusing sign?_

"Whaddya want, Kirk?"

"I just thought I'd drop off my resume with you."

"You've given me your resume three times this week, Kirk. Every time it's got new pages added."

"That's because I keep remembering additional jobs I've held. But this is the complete version, I promise."

"I'm not gonna hire you, Kirk. I don't need any extra help right now, and even if I did, I wouldn't hire you."

"Well, just keep my resume for future reference. I think you'll be especially interested in the 'Food Service Experience' section on pages 17 to 21." Kirk thrust the papers into Luke's hands and scampered out the door. Luke, in turn, tossed the papers into a trash can behind the counter.

"This town is a freakin' loony bin," he muttered.

"Oh, I don't know. I think it's kind of nice." Lorelai smiled and held up her now-empty coffee cup. "Could I get a refill, please?"

"Already? I just poured you a cup."

"Yes, and now the cup is empty, and I'd like it to be full again. Hence, re-_fill_."

"Caffeine is hell on your central nervous system, you know," sighed Luke as he reached for the pot.

"Hey, thanks for the nutrition tip, Slim Goodbody." Lorelai glanced out the window and saw Emily striding across the street. "Actually, could make that to go? I have a feeling I'm going to be leaving any second."

"_There_ you are," Emily cried as she burst through the door. "How could you leave me alone with that woman?"

"Which one?"

"Both of them! That Mrs. Kim wouldn't know Louis XIV from Crate & Barrel, and Francine? Well, she just sat there, so smug and self-satisfied, as if that horrible place were my fault."

"So, you didn't find anyhting?"

"Oh, I bought the china cabinet. They're delivering it on Thursday. Now, let's go. Francine's already at the car, probably on her cell phone with Biddy Charleston, telling her what a disaster I am at antiquing."

Emily marched back out the door, and Lorelai made her way up to the counter. Luke handed her the coffee, but shook his head when she went for her wallet. "First time customers are on the house."

"Well, thanks." Lorelai took the paper cup from him. "It was nice meeting you . . .Luke?"

Luke nodded. "Yeah. It was nice meeting you, too . . ."

"Lorelai."

"Nice meeting you, Lorelai."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Lorelai managed to extricate herself from dinner with Emily and Francine with a promise to serve refreshments at the next Historical Society fund-raiser. She jumped into her Explorer, grateful for the chance to escape. She realized she probably got the raw end of whole fund-raiser/dinner deal, but she'd cross that bridge when she got to it. She drove home in the fading daylight, just she and Bono singing at the tops of their lungs about all the things they still hadn't found.

The house was dark and quiet when she got home–a situation that was becoming more and more common in the life of the Haydens. Rory had become more involved in school activities this year and rarely made it home for dinner during the week. Part of Lorelai was glad that Rory was so busy building her own life, but she couldn't help being just a little concerned over Rory's complete absorption in her duties at Chilton. Rory had always been so serious and bookish as a kid, so unlike either Lorelai or Chris. For a while Lorelai had been worried that the collective weight of the Gilmores' and Haydens' had managed to smother the spark in Rory in a way they hadn't been able to do with Lorelai or Christopher (at least, she admitted to herself, not completely, anyway). When Rory started Chilton last year, though, things seemed to change. She became more outgoing (she'd even gone to a couple of the dances!), she'd joining a number of the clubs, and this year she'd be come the first sophomore to ever serve on the Franklin editorial staff. Lately, though, Rory was jumping into her extracurriculars with the same single-mindedness with which she approached her studies. She was pushing herself hard, as if she had something to prove.

Lorelai dropped her purse and coat on the couch and had just sat down when she saw the blinking light on the answering machine. She hauled herself up with a groan, walked over to the desk (a 19th-century roll-top Emily had found through a dealer in Fairfield) and began playing back the messages.

As soon as she pressed play, a cheerful, tightly-wound voice shattered the silence. "Hi, Lorelai, it's Ava. Just wanted to touch base with you on the spring fashion show. I think I've found a _fabulous _site, but we need to confirm ASAP. Oooh! Carolyn told me Barney's is having a sale on Ralph Lauren next weekend. Call me and we'll plan a good old-fashioned gal's shopping trip in the Big City. Bye-eee!"

The second voice was unfamiliar, but it was unmistakably One of Us. "Yes, Lorelai, this is Eunice Pierpont with the Hartford Historical Society. I've just spoken to your mother, and we're so _thrilled_ that you're going to help out at our little soiree next month. Now, I've e-mailed you all the details--"

Lorelai fast-forwarded to the final message. "Hey, Lor, it's me. Listen, the Old Man just dumped a new account on me, so I'm not sure when I'm gonna get out of here. I'll try to be home for dinner, but if I'm not there by, like, seven, go on and start without me, okay? Okay. Gotta go. Loveyabye."

The machine clicked off, and Lorelai sighed. She wasn't surprised that Chris wouldn't be home for dinner, and truth be told, she didn't even mind that much. As she glanced down at the desk, she caught sight of the one and only photo of their wedding. It had been, in Emily's words, "a small, but elegant affair" in the Gilmore living room. After all, a big, formal production "wouldn't have been appropriate under the circumstances." In a rare moment of photographic alchemy, the photographer had managed to capture accurately capture the emotions of everyone in the picture at the exact same time. Lorelai and Christopher stood flanked by Richard and Emily on one side and Straub and Francine on the other. Richard and Straub, the deal-brokers, stood solemn and resolved, reining in the rest of the group. Emily and Francine wore identical smiles of cheerful determination, making the best out of the situation, as they had been trained to their whole lives. In the center stood sixteen-year-old Lorelai and Chris, their eyes wide with the realization that This Was It. It was a hell of a departure from the Russian Winter theme Lorelai knew Emily had always envisioned for her only daughter's wedding.

At first, things had been okay–after all, they'd been friends from the time they'd started elementary school. They'd instinctively understood each other's quirky sense of humor, but more importantly they'd shared the desperate need to both escape from and to win the approval of the world they'd been born into. At fifteen, they'd talked about everything from calculus homework (Chris usually took the tutor role, since Lorelai had always been better at English) to the relative merits of Metallica versus the Offspring (Lorelai insisted then–as she still did–that Metallica was way more substantial) to which parent was the biggest pain in the ass (it was usually a tie between Straub and Emily). That friendship, combined with their desire to _Do the Right Thing for Rory_, had carried them for a long time after they got married. It had even been fun, early on–like playing house. But now Rory was getting older, and the less she seemed to need them to present a united front as Mommy and Daddy, the less their adolescent bond of pop-culture obsession and teen angst seemed able to sustain them in a grown-up, day-to-day marriage.

Lorelai flopped back down on the couch, propped her feet up on the Dilapidated Coffee Table of Shame, and closed her eyes. It hadn't been that bad, though. They'd done what was expected of them, they'd given their daughter a nice home with a mother and a father, and they'd even managed to have some good times.

She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, willing the tension out of her body.

It hadn't been that bad. It _wasn't_ that bad.

_strummy-strummy-la-la_

She didn't realize she'd dozed off until she heard the front door slam a little while later and Rory call to her from the front hall.

"Mom?"

"In here."

Rory trudged into the living room, dropped her overloaded bookbag on the floor, and sank down on the couch with a dramatic sigh.

"Rough day at the office, dear?"

"God, you have no idea," Rory groaned. "Let me just say that Paris? Is in serious need of prescription psychotropics."

Lorelai laughed. "Oh, I've been saying that ever since she tried to evoke Roberts's Rules of Order at your eighth birthday party."

"Yeah, well, today she had the dial on the schizometer turned all the way to eleven. She actually thinks that the _Franklin_ should have a Sunday supplement section. Like the _New York Times_.

"The _Franklin_ doesn't even come out on Sundays."

"And your point would be?" Rory leaned her head back on the couch and closed her eyes, just as Lorelai had a short while earlier. "Of course, Louise and Madeline are so far out in the ozone that they were no help. And Brad? All he can talk about is call-backs for _Rent_."

Lorelai studied her daughter's face, noticing–not for the first time–how pale she was, and how dark the circles were becoming under her eyes. "Are you sure you're not working too hard, hon?"

Rory opened her eyes. "No, it's okay," she replied with a faint smile. "This is just all stuff I need to do if I'm gonna get into an Ivy."

"Well, promise me you'll tell me if stuff starts getting to you, okay? I don't want to get a phone call one day that you're holed up in the Chilton bell tower with an assault rifle."

"Chilton doesn't even have a bell tower."

"You know what I mean."

"I know, and I promise. Oh, hey! How was your day with The Grandmas?"

Lorelai let out a small groan of her own. "Not unlike being stuck in a traveling dinner-theater version of _The Women_."

"Who was Joan Crawford and who was Rosalind Russell?"

"Let's just say they were both auditioning brilliantly for either part."

"And you were Virginia Weidler, the little girl stuck in the middle?"

"Exactly."

They sat in silence for a moment, then Lorelai swatted Rory's knee. "Okay, I think we need a round of One Good Thing."

Rory smiled. Ever since Rory had started kindergarten, the two of them had a pact that if one of them came home complaining about her day, the complainer would be made to tell one positive thing that had happened, in order to "clear the negativity, evil spirits, and any other wrinkle-inducing agents floating around in the cosmos."

"You first," smiled Lorelai.

"No, _you_ first. Who ever suggests it starts it, remember?"

"Fine, fine. Throw my own rules back in my face." Lorelai thought back over the day, trying to come up with one thing that didn't make her want to down a bottle of Xanax.

"Oh! Oh! I know! I had what is possibly the best coffee on the face of the planet today."

At the mention of coffee, Rory immediately perked up. "Really? Where?"

"This diner in this little town called Stars Hollow. I'm telling ya, kid, it was like drinking God's own elixir straight from the Holy Grail."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah." Lorelai frowned, remembering the grouch who had produced such a miraculous substance. "But of course it is, like any good holy grail, protected by a dragon. They guy who runs this place? Picture a much younger Vic Tayback in flannel and a baseball cap instead of a t-shirt and sailor hat."

"Yikes!"

"I know. Real Unabomber material. But it's totally worth going through him to get to his coffee. I'll have to take you there sometime." She nudged Rory in the arm. "Okay, your turn."

Rory gave her mother genuine smile for the first time since she'd gotten home. "Well, Mr. Medina really liked my paper on The House of Mirth. He said he was impressed by the way I placed my Marxist-feminist textual analysis within the context of the novel's socio-historical moment."

"Aw, now you're just making up big words to impress Mommy."

"No, seriously. He wants me to submit it to this journal that publishes literary criticism by students. He thinks I have real Ivy League potential."

"Like we needed him to tell us that," Lorelai scoffed. She looked at Rory more closely. "And have you given an more thought as to which Ivy League institution is going to have the privilege of nurturing your brilliant talent and stunning intellect?"

"Well, I know Grandpa Richard would really like it if I went to Yale."

"A vast understatement."

"But . . ." Rory's voice faltered and she fingered the pleats in her skirt. "Grandpa Straub says all the Haydens go to Princeton."

Lorelai had to fight down the urge to strangle her father-in-law. She knew that one of the only reasons Rory was considering Princeton because she was still trying to win the old coot's approval. Richard doted on Rory, but ever since she could talk, Rory had to fight for her other grandfather's affection. Straub, it seemed, wanted almost nothing to do with his only grandchild. At best he treated her like a distant relation whose name he barely remembered, and at worst he ignored her altogether. Lorelai knew she should have stopped being surprised a long time ago that Straub could be so cold to his own flesh and blood–especially to someone as sweet and wonderful as Rory–but every slight to her daughter still burned.

"Hey." She put her finger under Rory's chin and turned her to face her. "The only person you need to please in this whole college thing is you. You know that, right?"

Rory nodded, but without much conviction. "I know." She glanced down at her watch, then jumped off the couch with a yelp. "Oh, crap! I was supposed to meet Tristan at Starbucks ten minutes ago!"

"_Tristan_, huh?"

Rory rolled her eyes in disgust. "Give me a break. We're just working on our history project. Besides, I'm not even thinking about getting involved with boys right now. I don't want to do anything to--" She snapped her mouth shut as a blush rose in her cheeks.

"To what, hon?"

"Nothing."

"No, tell me. You don't want to do anything to . . ."

Rory couldn't meet her mother's eye. "To mess everything up." _Like you and dad did _, she might as well have added.

"Oh, Rory . . ."

But Rory had already picked up her backpack and was headed out of the room. "I gotta go," she called over her shoulder. "I'll be home by eleven."

Lorelai felt a lump rising in her throat as she watched her daughter go. She guessed every mother wanted to keep her kid safe and happy, but seriously? How many mothers had kids as special as Rory?

She heaved herself up off the couch once more and reached for the phone, readying herself for another evening of pizza and _Law and Order_ reruns.

_strummy-strummy-la-la_

She wasn't entirely asleep when Chris got home, although she'd been in bed since _The Daily Show_ had ended half an hour earlier. She sat up when she heard him come into the room, and she turned on the light, startling him.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's okay. I wasn't asleep yet, anyway."

They both tried to ignore how many times they'd had this same conversation.

"You look exhausted."

It was true. His eyes were heavy and red-rimmed, and his shoulders sagged in his custom-made shirt. He placed his bulging briefcase on a chair in the corner and tossed his jacket over it. "Yeah, well, my dad really wants everything ready for this new account by Monday, so I thought I'd hang out and get as much done as I could. I really didn't mean to be so late."

"It's okay," she said again. They both knew it wasn't.

"Rory in bed?"

"Yeah. She got home about an hour ago. Oh, hey–her English teacher thinks she should try to get her last paper published."

"No kidding?"

"Yeah. He practically made her sound like a grad student already."

Chris smiled proudly as he loosened his tie. "That's my girl. She'll be knocking Princeton on its ass in no time."

Lorelai flinched at the Princeton reference but nodded at idea that Rory would take any Ivy by storm. "I know. She's getting so grown and so busy. It's like she doesn't need me any more."

"Oh, she'll always need you, Lor," Chris replied as he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped off his pants.

"I know, but not like she used to. When she was little, my whole day was organized around doing what she needed and being with her. Now I don't have that anymore. I don't have anybody who needs me or any place I have to be. I miss it."

"Well," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes, "maybe you could have that again."

"Huh. Unless you're talking about tying Rory down and home-schooling her for the next fifty years–an option I have considered, mind you–I don't see how."

"I wasn't really talking about Rory." Chris drew a deep breath and looked at her hesitantly. "Actually, I've been thinking that we should have another baby."

Lorelai's mouth dropped open, and she stared at him in shock. "Give me some clue," she said slowly and carefully, "as to whether or not you're joking."

"Just think about it, Lor. We're still young–hell, most people don't even have their first kid until they're our age."

"Oh, my god. You're not joking." She ran a shaky hand through her hair. "Chris, we can't have another baby."

"Why not?"

"Why _not_?" Did he really need her to tell him all the reasons why not? Did he really need her to say that they were in no position to deliberately bring a child in to their family? Did he really need her to remind him of just how long it had been since they'd even come _close_ to doing anything that would result in making a baby?

"Chris . . ."

"Just hear me out, okay? This could be a really good thing. I mean, the Old Man would be so jazzed to have a grandson--"

"I am _not_ having a baby just to please your father!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. But come on, you just said yourself that you miss what it was like when Rory was little."

"I meant I missed having something to do with my time. I wasn't talking about having another kid. I was talking about getting a job."

They'd had this discussion before, and as he always did when she mentioned going to work, Christopher rolled his eyes. "Lorelai, you don't need to work. We're fine."

"I know _we_ don't need me to work. _I_ need me to work." Lorelai jumped out of the bed and started pacing around it. "I need something to do with my days besides making cookies for the sophomore class bake sale and avoiding my mother's phone calls."

"That's why I think we should have a baby. Besides," he said, coming to stand beside her, his eyes pleading, "I think having another kid could be good for us."

Lorelai took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like she was caught in Space Mountain and the ride wouldn't stop. "Chris, a baby is not like Bones McCoy's tricorder, okay? You don't just have a kid and suddenly–poof!–everything's better."

Christopher's shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand across the back of his neck. "Look, it's late, and we're both tired. Let's just talk about this when we've both had some sleep, okay?" He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Lorelai knew a passive-aggressive maneuver when she saw one, but at the moment she didn't have the energy to fight it. She turned off the light and got back into bed, curling herself tightly around a pillow on her side. She lay breathing deeply, trying to calm herself, unable for once to escape the reality of the situation. No matter how often she told herself that everything it was fine, it wasn't. She was in a relationship that was based more and more on shared guilt and responsibility than it was on whatever passion–or at least affection–had been there at the beginning. Her daughter was carrying the weight of a situation she hadn't created on her slim shoulders. She couldn't blame it on going through the angst most people went through when they hit thirty or had been married for a long time. She couldn't even blame it on all the work Chris had been putting in since Straub and Richard had invited him to join them in their firm five years earlier ("Gilmore, Hayden and Hayden has such a nice, dynastic ring to it," Francine had beamed). Deep down, she knew the problems had started years earlier.

She knew that everything had started to fall apart that day they sat on the landing of her parents' front staircase–the day Christopher had looked at her, his eyes full of uncertainty and guilt, and said, "I guess we should get married, huh?"

_strummy-strummy-la-la_

**Up Next:** Return to Stars Hollow


	3. Chapter 3

bA/N/b: In response to some responses and questions I've received, yes, this is a story that's been posted on another site

bA/N/b: In response to some responses and questions I've received, yes, this is a story that's been posted on another site for a very long time. If you've read it before, feel free to move on. If you haven't read it (or if you want to read it again), please enjoy—and leave a review!

Oh, yeah: Yes, the fact that I've started catching it up here means that I intend to finish it. I'll be posting the original chapters (there are sixteen total) over the next few weeks, and by the time I'm finished I hope to have new stuff to put up. Unless I get distracted by something shiny.

Ooh! Tinsel!

Chapter 3

If it hadn't been for the napkin rings, Lorelai might never have gone back to Stars Hollow. In fact, she hadn't even thought about the place in the two weeks that had passed since she'd been there. (Well, she thought about that coffee every time she stepped into a Starbucks, but other than that . . .) Emily, however, had called her at 6:30 that morning, waking her from a rare restful sleep in order to go into Martha-Stewart-on-Crack mode about the brass napkin rings she'd seen at Kim's Antiques.

"They'll set off Great-grandmother Gilmore's Limoges perfectly. Honestly, Lorelai, you don't expect me to host Family Dinner without napkin rings to complement the china, do you?"

Ah, yes–Family Dinner. About the time Rory started school, Emily and Francine had cooked up the idea of monthly dinners with Lorelai, Rory, Chris, and both sets of grandparents. The dinners alternated between the Gilmore manse and Casa de Hayden, Sr., with a clear but unspoken contest between Emily and Francine to see who could out-hostess the other. The penalties for absence from or tardiness in arriving at Family Dinner were only slightly more severe than the punishment for dropping a candy wrapper on the street in Bangkok.

Emily spent twenty minutes listing all the reasons why she couldn't get the napkin rings herself ("Between preparations for the DAR Fall Symposium on Saturday and overseeing the arrangements for the dinner I don't even have time to get my hair done, let alone make an eighty-mile round trip for something so trivial") and laying on the guilt ("I mean, really, Lorelai. It's not like I ever ask you for anything") before pulling out the big guns.

"Besides, I thought you'd just love a chance to get some more of that coffee you've been going on and on about for the last two weeks."

"I have not been 'going on and on' about that coffee!" But it was really, really good!

"Oh, please," Emily snorted. You haven't talked anything else since we went to that wretched little town. Everyone in Hartford knows how much you loved that coffee. Mr. Dealey over on Larchmont Avenue knows how much you loved that coffee, and Mr. Dealey hasn't left his house since 1987."

That's how Lorelai found herself once again entering the town of Stars Hollow, this time under a banner announcing the Fall Pumpkin Festival to be held the next weekend. In fact, the whole town seemed to have been turned into a giant Halloween centerpiece. All the storefronts along the town square (at least, Lorelai assumed it was the town square) were decorated with tons of autumn corn, giant fall leaves, and disturbingly cheerful jack-o'-lanterns. The only place that seemed to have escaped the magic wand of the Halloween Fairy (Halloween Witch?) was Luke's Diner, which stood in the middle of the square, singularly–and almost defiantly–undecorated.

After a quick trip into Kim's to pick up the napkin rings (which had mysteriously doubled in price since earlier that morning, when Emily had called to confirm that they were still available and to have them held), Lorelai made a beeline across the street for her coffee. The diner was once again empty, and she took a seat at the counter. Luke was behind the counter fiddling with a toaster that looked like it had seen better days, and he didn't even look up when she sat down.

"So, don't tell me. This place is actually an installation piece, and you're really a performance artist pretending to work in a diner. Something about the evils of capitalism or the emptiness of American nutritional habits, right?"

That got his attention. Luke looked up from his toaster-fiddling, and his expression changed from one of irritation to one of vague recognition when he saw the source of the Pretentious Art humor. "Oh, hey. You're back."

"Yes, and I'm wondering whether I should have come back, seeing as this is the second time I've been here and once again I am your only customer. Does the rest of this town know something I don't?"

"Oh, yeah." Luke looked around at the empty tables. "The place is always dead between 10:30 and noon, but come lunch time the vultures will start circling again." He put down the screwdriver and the toaster and wiped his hands on a rag. "So, can I get you something?"

Lorelai nodded. "Yes, I'd like a cup of coffee and a--"

"Please don't say 'plate of mashed yeast,'" Luke winced as he poured her coffee.

"Actually, I was gong to say 'and a Danish,' but, you know, whatever you've got is cool."

"I've got cherry, cheese, and chocolate."

"Ooh! Nice alliteration. I'll have the cheese, please."

"So, what brings you back to the Looney Bin?" Luke asked, placing a Danish on a plate and sliding it down the counter to her.

"Napkin rings."

"Napkin rings?"

Lorelai took a sip of her coffee and nodded. "Yup. Let's just say that the fate of the Free World–and even more importantly, the balance of power in my extended family–rests on me successfully delivering a set of eight shiny, overpriced brass napkin rings from Kim's Antiques to my mother in the next 36 hours."

"Ooo-kay." Luke shrugged, obviously having nothing productive to say about napkin rings or the inner workings of upper-class families, and went back to working on the toaster. "Oh, hey," he said after a minute. "I saw that Woody Allen movie you were talking about." He shook his head. "That guy's a head case, if you ask me–and he's way too attached to New York."

"You saw iAnnie Hall/i?" Lorelai asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well. . .yeah. Isn't that the movie you were talking about the other day?"

"You went and watched a film you'd never seen, based on the recommendation of a complete stranger?" She knew she was needling him in a way that came dangerously close to flirting, but she couldn't help it. There was just something about this guy that made her want to keep poking at him. It certainly had nothing at all to do with feeling flattered that she'd left an impression on someone she'd met for all of two seconds. Nothing at all.

Luke blushed. "Well, isn't that what people do when they read movie reviews, or watch those guys on TV? Take the advice of people they don't know? Those guys with the thumbs, what are their names? Siskel and Ebert?"

"Actually, now it's Ebert and Roeper. Siskel died last year."

"Whatever. Anyway," he continued defensively, "it's not like I went out and rented it or anything. They just happened to be showing it at the book store last week, and I thought, 'What the hell . . .'"

Now it was Lorelai's turn to look confused. "I'm sorry. Did you just say you watched a movie at a book store?"

"Yeah, they show movies there every Tuesday night. Half the town usually shows up."

Lorelai shook her head in wonder. "This is, like, the coolest town ever."

"You wouldn't say that if you had to live here," Luke grumped.

Just then, the bell over the door jingled, and a red-headed woman near Lorelai's age bounded into the diner. It only took Lorelai a second to place her as the one who'd been arguing over kumquats the last time Lorelai had been in town.

"Hey, Luke," she called as she came up to the counter.

"Hey, Sookie. How's it goin'?"

Sookie, however, didn't get a chance to answer. She'd been about to sit on the stool next to Lorelai, but somehow misjudged the distance. She toppled over, nearly landing in Lorelai's lap.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry," she giggled as she righted herself. "Don't mind me. I tend to get a little klutzy sometimes."

"Oh, I don't mind," Lorelai laughed. "I usually have to spring for diner and drinks before I get any sitting-in-the-lap action."

Both women laughed until Luke, who apparently had a low tolerance for giggling females, broke in to make the introductions. "Lorelai, this is Sookie. She's the head chef over at the Independence Inn. Sookie, this is Lorelai. Lorelai is . . ." Luke's attempt at playing social facilitator fizzled when he realized he didn't know anything to say about Lorelai.

"Lorelai is a mom from Hartford," Lorelai finished for him. She turned to Sookie and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Sookie."

"You too, Lorelai."

"So, what can I get you, Sookie?"

"An iced tea for me, and a slice of peach pie to go for Mia. She's been dying for a piece of your pie all morning."

"Dirty," murmured Lorelai.

Luke and Sookie both looked at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted a giant purple horn in the middle of her forehead, then Luke turned back to Sookie. "Mia still trying to find a new day clerk?"

"Yeah," nodded Sookie. "Trent says he'll stay on until she can find a replacement, but he's ready to get out of there."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure she'll find someone soon," said Luke as he placed a paper cup and Styrofoam container in front of Sookie.

Sookie, however, didn't seem in any hurry to leave. "So, uh, Luke," she asked, turning a flattering shade of pink, "have you seen Jackson around today?"

Lorelai grinned into her coffee cup. She didn't even know Sookie, but she could always tell when a woman was practicing the ancient female tradition of subtly asking about a man without looking like she was asking about a man. It was clear that Sookie, however, hadn't quite mastered the "subtle" part of the ritual. Only someone with a defective social radar would miss the fact that she obviously had a crush on this Jackson guy.

"Nah. Haven't seen him since he dropped off the lettuce shipment this morning," shrugged Luke, who evidently had no social radar. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason," said Sookie hastily. "It's just that I wasn't around when he dropped off the peaches this morning, and I just wanted to ask him about–Oh my god, the peaches!" Sookie jumped off the stool, nearly knocking over her iced tea.

Luke was clearly used to Sookie's clumsiness, and he caught the cup before it spilled. "What about the peaches?"

"I think I left the peach sauce simmering on the stove!" She threw some money on the counter and grabbed her order. "Thanks, Luke!" she called as she ran out the door. "Nice meeting you, Lorelai!"

Luke just shook his head as Sookie left, but Lorelai's mind had already moved on to other matters. "So, this . . .Mia?"

Luke nodded. "She owns the Independence Inn."

"And she's looking for a new front desk clerk?"

"Yeah. The one who works for her now just started college full time and has to quit."

"So, you don't need a degree or anything to be a desk clerk?"

"I guess not," Luke shrugged. "I think Mia hired Trent pretty much right out of high school." Luke looked at her quizzically. "Why? You thinking of applying?"

Lorelai almost said yes, then thought better of it. "Who, me? Oh, no, no. I was just curious, that's all. I don't work." She sighed and picked up her coffee cup. "I don't need to work," she muttered.

She'd said it mostly to herself, but the look on Luke's face told her he'd heard her. If he'd intended to say anything about it, though, he was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. He stepped over to pick it up.

"Luke's. . . .Oh, hey."

Lorelai tried not to eavesdrop–she really did–but the way Luke tensed up when he heard who was on the other end of the line piqued her curiosity. Besides, she figured, if he wanted privacy he'd go into an office or something, not stand where the whole world–okay, where she–could hear him. Unfortunately, it was very hard to casually and unwittingly overhear a conversation when you only had access to one party in the conversation and that party insisted on keeping his back to you the whole time he was talking.

"No, it's not a bad time. What do you need? . . . Because you usually only call me when you need something . . .I'm not irritated. I've just got a lot going on. Now, what's up? . . .What happened to the money I sent you last month? . . .How the hell do you rack up 300 bucks in long distance in one month? . . .Well, tell him to stop calling you collect. I swear, Liz . . .No, no. I'm gonna send it to you. I'll put a check in the mail today. . . .You're welcome. So, how's Jess? . . . I mean, how's Jess? How's he doing in school? . . . Well don't you think you should find out? . . . Because you're his mother, that's why . . . What court date? . . . What the hell was he doing traipsing around Central Park in the middle of the night, anyway? . . . Yeah, I am mad now. . . . Aw, come on, Liz! You're blowing money you don't have on some schmuck who lives five hundred miles away, your kid is running the streets, and you . . . Okay, you know what? I can't talk about this right now. Your check's in the mail. You need anything else? . . . Okay, fine. Bye."

Luke slammed the phone down and stood facing the wall for a second, obviously trying to cool down.

"Boy, those telemarketers, huh? They'll try anything to keep you on the phone, won't they?" It was an admittedly lame attempt at levity, but Lorelai felt the need to diffuse the tension in the room–not to mention call attention away from the fact that she'd just been listening to the intimate conversation of a guy she barely knew.

Luke turned and looked at her as if he'd forgotten she was even there. "What? Oh, no, no. That was my sister."

Ah. "The 'real mess?'"

"Huh?"

"You told me you have a sister who–and I quote–'turned out to be a real mess.'"

"Oh, yeah." Luke laughed bitterly and began wiping down the counter again. "Yep, that's Liz, in all her glory."

"Oh." Lorelai, seeing that Luke was truly upset, decided she'd pried enough. She sat silently, picking up Danish crumbs with the tines of her fork as she watched Luke clean the counter.

Luke, however, seemed to need to vent, even if it was to someone he'd only met twice in his life. "I just don't get it. She floats from crappy job to crappy job, from crummy apartment to crummy apartment–and don't even get me started on the long parade of losers she's let march through her life, borrowing money and running up cable bills and leaving her crying to me about getting her heart broken–again. I mean, she's a thirty-four-year-old woman with a kid, and she's living like a freakin' hippie!" Luke threw down his rag and began flailing his arms and hands around wildly. "And that kid of hers? Jess is the smartest kid I know. He's always got his nose buried in a book, and he's got the vocabulary of a Columbia English professor. But he's failing out of school–again–and running around like a wild animal, and what does his mother have to say about it? 'La-di-da, he has to find his own path, man!'" He stopped for a minute, temporarily winded by his rant.

Lorelai wasn't sure what to say, but feeling that some acknowledgment that she'd been paying attention was required, she went with a non-committal, but universally applicable, "Gosh."

Luke inhaled deeply and placed both hands on the counter to steady himself. "I do what I can, you know? She asks me for money, I send her a check. She needs help moving, I'm there with the truck. I've even done what I can with Jess, though god knows how much help I've been in that department."

Lorelai sat for a second, watching all the emotions flicker across Luke's face. She suddenly found herself deeply moved by this man who gave so much for a family that seemed to give him so little in return. "I'm sure you've done everything you could," she said sympathetically. "What about your parents? Could they help out?"

A deeper, more intense shadow of pain crossed Luke's eyes, and he shook his head. "My parents both died a long time ago."

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, you didn't know," Luke shrugged. "That's why I've tried so hard with Liz, though, you know? I'm pretty much the only family she's got, and I do my best to look after her and Jess. That's what families are supposed to do. They take care of each other."

Lorelai thought of her own family and sighed. "Yeah. That's what families are supposed to do."

At that, Luke roused himself and looked at her sheepishly. "Jeez, I'm sorry. You don't even know me. You come in for a simple cup of coffee, and here I am going on and on like a crazy person."

"It's okay."

Luke rubbed a hand across the stubble on his jaw. "I swear, I'm really not normally like this. You can ask anyone in town. I mean, yeah, I rant–a lot–but I do not go around unloading personal stuff on people. Especially total strangers."

"First of all," smiled Lorelai, "anyone who accepts a movie recommendation from me is no longer a stranger. And secondly–and this may sound weird, so please don't take it the wrong way–I kinda liked it. Nobody's . . . ranted at me like that for a long time. It felt good to be a sounding board."

Luke gave her a small, uncertain grin. "Well, okay, then." He looked down at her empty plate and coffee cup. "So, can I get you anything else?"

Lorelai stood up and stretched. "A refill to go, please. I have an important delivery to make," she intoned, holding up the package of napkin rings.

"Oh, right. 'The fate of the Free World.'" Luke filled a paper cup with coffee and set it on the counter, but once again shook his head when Lorelai pulled out her wallet. "Keep it. It's the least I can do after you let me vent at you like that."

Lorelai smiled. "You know, you keep giving me free coffee, and I may have to keep coming back."

Luke simply smiled back at her. "Come back any time."

Lorelai drove back to Hartford feeling lighter than she had in a very long time. She'd almost forgotten that there were people who could just be friendly without setting social agendas or treating each other with barely disguised contempt, or that there were people who actually helped their families without trying to control them.

She slipped the Bangles into the CD player and thought about that job at the inn. It would be perfect for her. No formal training was required, and she had enough practical experience planning seating arrangements and kissing asses at countless Booster Club and Junior League functions–not to mention thirty-odd years of watching Emily run her house as if it were the Plaza–to work a hotel front desk.

Yeah, it would be the perfect job for her–if she were going to work.

She cranked up "If She Knew What She Wants" and stepped on the gas, thinking all the way home about coffee, and fall festivals, and brothers who looked out for wayward sisters.

Next Up: Family Diner


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